Through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places. –E. E. Cummings

Saturday, March 17, 2018

foraging for food on the mountain

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The wild up here is not creatures, wooded,tangled wild. It is absence wild.Barren, empty, stone wild. Worn-away wild.Only the smell of weeds and hot air.But a place where differences are clear.Between the mind’s severity and its harshness.Between honesty and the failure of belief.A man said no person is educated who knowsonly one language, for hecannot distinguishbetween his thought and the English version.Up here he is translated to a place where it ispossible to discriminate between age and sorrow.